


Edict

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Alternate Universe, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: When the heat-Focus strikes, Hope’s meant to breed with whomever the fal’Cie choose, though he has other plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “breaking the rules” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo). This is set in an **AU** for the sake of [aging Hope up a la FFXIII-2](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/p__/images/1/1e/FFXIII-2_HopeArt.png/revision/latest?cb=20130415180532&path-prefix=protagonist) and twisting brands/Focuses/fal'Cie intent.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The others can sense it, he thinks, if not the full extent than the gist—something’s _wrong_. But every time they ask him or give him those little, subtle, pitying looks, Hope grits his teeth and lies, “I’m fine.”

He’s not fine. His skin is crawling. He’s infinitely relieved when Lightning relegates him to the watch group instead of the battle party. By the time it’s finally dark enough to set up camp, Hope feels like he’s losing his mind. 

He’s already ripped his tie off and twisted it about his neck like the bandana he used to wear; it’s less tight that way, though breathing’s still difficult. He refuses to unbutton his shirt. It’s his pants that feel the worst— _far too tight_ —and every so often, he’ll tug down his sleeve and see his brand, blazing red with fury. He makes sure the others don’t catch him. They have enough to worry about without his problems and newest sub-Focus. Then he looks across the campfire at Vanille, chirping happily to Fang about all the things she missed about this place—their home, Gran Pulse, _hell_ —and he _knows_ he can’t fulfill that Focus. 

He sucks in a breath and steels himself over, trying to sit up straight and look as strong as the rest of them. But Snow gets up, interrupting Sazh mid-sentence, and comes around to Hope’s side of the fire.

Snow sits down next to Hope, the firelight licking orange along his creamy skin, and it’s all Hope can do not to _moan_. He used to hate Snow. He blamed Snow for the Sanctum’s sins. But he’s long since gotten over that, and now he can appreciate just how unwaveringly handsome Snow is. His broad shoulders, his thick biceps, his chiseled chest: it’s all something out of one of Hope’s boyhood fantasies. His brand isn’t helping. Snow shuffles right up close, until they’re nearly touching, the raw musk of unwashed _man_ flooding Hope’s nostrils, and Snow murmurs below the crackling of the fire, “Are you sure you’re alright, kiddo...?”

Hope licks his lips. He means to say _he’s fine_. But it’d be so hard to lie to Snow. It doesn’t seem fair that anyone, especially a reckless idiot like Snow Villiers, should smell so good. Look so good. Even his stupid cap, flattening his blond bangs between his eyes, works on him. Hope stares at Snow’s perfect face and wonders if there’s even a chance.

He makes up his mind in that instant. He’s thought of nothing else for days. But he wasn’t really going to go through with it, couldn’t possibly, even though this whole journey has been one lesson in bravery after the other, but now it’s too late and Snow’s too intoxicating. Hope gets up to his knees and whispers, “Follow me?” Snow’s brow knits together in concern, but he nods.

As Hope retreats from the camp, he can see Lightning tensing out the corner of his eye, but she relaxes again when she sees Snow’s coming with him. The two of them can handle themselves, at least for a little while. Hope takes them around the nearest opening in the rocky wall—it’s so _strange_ to be on such a natural world, nothing like Cocoon. Hope guides them until they’ve found a small alcove, mostly still hidden from the vast stretch of plains, still within sight of the firelight, but far enough not to be heard. Of course, Snow steps in front of the mouth of that alcove, blocking Hope in, protecting him. Snow’s always doing that, even though he’s only a few years older. He wants to save everyone. Hope can’t help but wonder if that will apply to this. 

He’s going to explain. He puts his hand on his wrist, ready to slide down the white fabric and reveal his sin, but his eyes are trained on Snow’s, and before he can stop himself, he’s already moving. He closes the tiny distance between them and presses their lips together, surging forward as soon as he’s established contact, can’t help it, his body takes over, moving on auto-pilot—he puts his hands on Snow’s broad shoulders, and—

And Snow pushes him back, reeling a step away and spluttering, “Wh—”

“I’m sorry,” Hope mutters, even though he’s not, still wants to do it—he forces himself to step back anyway, flattening along the rock wall. “I’m sorry, I-I can’t help it... I...” It takes a deep breath to be able to think, much less talk. “I just want you _so badly_...”

Hope’s biggest worry was losing Snow’s friendship, but Snow only looks worried about _Hope_. Hope averts his eyes, because looking at Snow just makes it worse. “Hope... what’s gotten into you?”

Hope gives a weak, humourless laugh. He’s surprised Snow can’t smell it on him. But if anyone was going to be foolish enough to mistake the signals of pheromones, it’d be Snow. As Hope’s laugh turns bitter, he pushes up his sleeve, thrusting out his arm, his brand shining an angry crimson through the darkness. He can hear Snow’s breath suck in. They both know what it means. Hope still mumbles, “I... I have to be satiated, or I’ll... I’ll...” he cuts off in a choked sob. It’s hard to gather himself after. He doesn’t even want to think about the consequences. 

“I can’t.”

Hope winces. He keeps his eyes on the ground, though it makes no difference when Snow grabs at him—two firm hands wrap around his arms, and the strength in that grip makes Hope tremble with want. He’s already a wreck. Snow touching him, even through the leather gloves and thick shirt, is exhilarating. Hope can feel his pulse spiking. Snow carries on, as if Hope didn’t already know all the reasons why this couldn’t work, “That’s not how it goes. You’ve already had your Focus dream—you know who you’re supposed to go to, and that can’t be me—I’ve seen you bathing in the river—” Hope shudders, his own memories of Snow, naked and wet, flooding into him, “—and I _know_ it can’t be me. You can’t breed me, and I can’t breed you. The fal’Cie do this to force l’Cie to _breed_. They told you who you’re supposed to do that with. It _can’t_ be me—”

“I don’t _care._ ” Hope surprises himself with how forcefully he snarls it. The memories of the last time they stopped to clean up have made this so much worse—they weren’t supposed to look at each other, but Hope _did_ , because Snow is irresistible to him, and he remembers the way Snow winked at him and started scrubbing extra slow. That infuriating teasing fuels him to hiss, “It’s a stupid rule! And why shouldn’t we break it? If we’re not going to be the fal’Cie’s puppets in our full Focus, why do I have to be in this one?”

“Because it’s already too late,” Snow volleys. It’s always so odd to see him serious. “If you’re already in heat, you can’t put it off. I’m not going to let you turn Cieth, Hope. Who’s your Focus?”

“I don’t need to, I’m sure of it, I can feel it, if I can just _touch someone_ , I’m sure it’ll ease it—”

“ _Who_ , Hope?”

With a full grimace, Hope admits, “Vanille,” and while Snow’s eyes widen, Hope rushes on, “but I don’t want her like I want you! I don’t want her at all! And besides, she’s with Fang, we can all see that—”

“I’m with Serah—”

“But you’re from Bodhum, they’re open—you must’ve helped others through a Focus, you’re so big and virile—” And he’s losing it again, being this close. He leans in, but Snow holds him back, even though Hope can see the confusion on his face, the question. Hope’s heard stories of Cocoon’s most peaceful, loving seaside city. And he finds it hard to believe that no one’s seen Snow in their Focus before—he’s perfect for breeding, and if Hope could carry children, he certainly would want them to be _Snow’s_ , while the thought of lying with Vanille like that makes his stomach twist the wrong way. Snow takes too long to answer, and that hesitation is telling.

“That was different—I was their Focus; it was to help them...”

“ _This_ will help me. _Please_. Serah will understand—I _need_ you.”

“You need Vanille—”

“I don’t want her; I want _you_!” The next time he struggles, Snow’s hold gives way, and Hope pushes out of it to flatten his body into Snow’s. He feels so much smaller in comparison, but Snow has muscles like no one else. His body is rock hard against Hope’s own taut torso, and he grinds into that sculpture, moaning as his arms slip around Snow’s sides, “You’re _so_ hot, I can barely stand it. How am I supposed to want to be inside anyone else when I’m running around all day with _you_ , watching you get all sweaty and flushed in a fight, protecting me... you’re the one that turned my life around—the one that rescued me from the Purge, helped me forgive, showed me all this...”

“You blamed me for what happened there,” Snow starts, but to Hope’s delight, he isn’t pushing Hope away anymore, and they both know he so easily could. He could throw Hope over his shoulder and march right back to camp. Instead, he lets Hope bury his face in the crook of Snow’s shoulder and breathe in. The smell is pure alcohol to Hope’s frazzled senses. He mewls in lust and burrows deeper, sticks out his tongue to lick Snow’s skin, just missing the strings of his silver necklaces and tracing up to his adam’s apple. It bobs when Snow gulps.

“That was then,” Hope rasps. He can barely think straight. Snow always makes him dizzy, but this is the height of it.

“There are rules...”

“What about NORA?” Snow tenses, and Hope insists, “You’re _all about_ breaking the rules...” But it’s not just that, and Hope hammers home, “Don’t let the fal’Cie force me to be with someone I don’t want. Don’t let prejudice keep you from me, if that’s all it is, because you _know_ I’ll be good for you—Snow, I’ll be _so good_ , I’ll do whatever you want—you’re one of the most handsome men on Cocoon, and you’ve gone way too long without sex, we all have, but you can’t be used to your hand like the rest of us. _Fuck me instead_. Fuck me any way, any time you want—you don’t have to stay with me, I know that, not unless when Serah wakes up, she agrees to share you, but she’ll let you at least do this, save me...” He knows she would. And he wants, more than anything, for her to open her eyes again and tell Snow that he’s too big a man to be tethered to one person; he should have a whole harem of eager lovers to take care of his needs. Hope could be one of those. He never knew Serah, but if she’s as kind and open as Lightning and Snow make her sound...

Hope goes in for another kiss, eyes locked on Snow’s lips, but Snow fists a hand in his hair and tugs him back. Hope gasps at the sting, but he stays back while Snow tells him quietly, “I would like that, Hope. You have to know how much I like you. ...But I can’t promise anything until she’s said it’s okay.” Hope nods in Snow’s grasp, and Snow finally cracks a smile that sets all the butterflies off like fireworks in Hope’s chest. “I guess you’re right, though. We always let each other help others through their Focus. And I won’t lie and say it wouldn’t be nice to have a go at your ass—I thought at first you were doing this because you’d caught me staring at it. I’ve imagined fucking you enough.”

“I only think about you,” Hope agrees, voice hoarse from both the angle of his throat and the heady idea that _Snow wants him._ “Whenever I touch myself, it’s always you...”

Snow’s grin widens, only to fall when he finishes, “But you have to promise me that if this doesn’t work, you’ll go straight to Vanille. I’ll hold your hand through it if I have to, but I _won’t_ see you turn Cieth.”

Hope gulps and nods. Even that sounds bearable if Snow went with him, but he’d much rather have _this_ , and when he lifts up on his toes just that little bit extra, leaning in to bring them together, Snow goes forward the rest of the way.

It’s intense from the start. A switch seems to have flipped in Snow—all the reservation’s gone, and he tilts his head and opens right away, tongue jamming against Hope’s mouth—Hope parts his lips and lets Snow plunge inside. Snow’s hands grab his hips at the same time, forcing him back, and before Hope knows what’s happening, he’s being slammed into the wall, but his gasp at the impact is lost in Snow’s mouth. Snow quickly wraps an arm around his waist and holds him in with it, the other running up to fist in Hope’s hair: another pleasant burn. Snow rakes through it too hard, his fingers too thick and his gloves catching here and there, but it’s worth every tug. Hope doesn’t know what to do with his tongue, so he just lets Snow’s push his around, lets Snow bite at his lips and thrust in deeper. He feels like a panting dog that can’t make his mouth close. He has no control. Snow kisses him like they’re the last two humans left and they have to repopulate all of Pulse.

When Hope wraps his arms under Snow’s shoulders, reaching up to hold onto his back, Snow lurches them around. Hope can feel himself falling, except Snow’s securely holding him, and the he feels grass brushing at his back—Snow lowers him down along the ground. Snow’s over him on all fours. Hope lifts his legs to hook his knees against Snow’s sides, holding on tight, and his one regret is that they wear such complicated clothes. He doesn’t care if they need potions and weapons and all those other things—he wishes all the pouches and pockets were gone and it was just _skin-on-skin_. He tugs vainly at Snow’s jacket and whimpers into Snow’s mouth, until Snow gets the hint. He breaks the kiss and sits up on his knees, wrestling out of his jacket in a heartbeat. He moves back down again right after, but Hope pushes at the blue shirt underneath, and Snow rips that off just as quickly. When he descends again, his chest’s bear, save for the silver pendants that fall heavy against Hope’s collarbone. Hope’s hands get busy mapping every line of muscle. It’s exponentially better than any of his daydreams. The weight of Snow’s crotch bearing down on his is infinitely better than his own hand. He can feel just how hard Snow is, and the thought that Snow’s hard for _him_ blows his mind. 

He can’t deal with his own clothes, even though he wants to feel the slide of Snow’s pecs against his own. He isn’t nearly so fit as this, but it’s not shame that holds him back—the buttons are too difficult right now, and he doesn’t want them to stop kissing again. Snow touches him through his clothes, running up and down and pressing in so tightly that he must feel it as well as if Hope were completely naked. Then Snow’s hands are on his waist, tugging at his pants, and all Hope can do is spill a needy, “ _Please_...”

“I wish you could get wet for me,” Snow hisses, dodging another kiss to bite at Hope’s ear instead—Hope gasps and arches up. “I’d fuck you right now, but instead I have to stretch you open...”

Hope wishes the fal’Cie could’ve made him wet. He knows that wouldn’t have helped for breeding, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t _want_ to be bred like livestock, just wants _Snow inside him_. Snow lets go of Hope’s waist to bring his fist up to his mouth, and he tears his glove right off with his teeth. Two fingers fall to Hope’s mouth, pushing in, and Hope takes them with a small grunt. Snow coos, “Suck, kiddo. Get ‘em nice and wet.” Hope wouldn’t dream of disobeying. He sucks for all he’s worth, letting them rub at his tongue and trying to coat them all the way to the knuckle. Snow stares at him the whole time, groaning, “ _Fuck_ , you look good.” Hope’s cheeks flush. 

While the one hand’s busy, the other grabs at Hope’s pants, and they’re awkwardly scrunched down his thighs, until he can feel the cold grass tickling his cheeks. It amazes him that Snow can manage, but he must have more experience than Hope. When the pants are sufficiently out of the way, Snow slips his fingers out and kisses Hope’s mouth instead. Hope opens right up again and slides his hands into Snow’s hair. The black bandana’s in the way, but Hope doesn’t have the wherewithal right now to get it off, so he just plays with what he can. The second Snow’s hand is on his ass, he cries out into Snow’s mouth.

Snow eats the noises away. The last thing they need is to attract monsters—animals of Pulse or Cieth that weren’t so lucky. Then Snow’s fingers are sliding between Hope’s cheeks, and he just wants to howl. It feels _so good_ already, and Snow’s not even inside him yet, but just _touching_ Snow is a dream come true, rules and Focuses be damned...

Snow pets Hope’s hole with one blunt finger before he pushes inside, just the tip at first, and it’s enough for Hope to grunt and wince. It doesn’t hurt, just feels weird. Snow pushes deeper slowly, carefully, just a little bit at a time, and the spit sort of eases the way but by no means makes it _easy_. Hope can’t stop himself from tensing up, even though Snow chides, “Relax...”

He can’t. It’s too thick. By the time Snow’s buried to the hilt, Hope’s shaking. Snow pauses there and mutters, “Damn, you’re tight, kid... how many times have you done this...?”

Never. When he doesn’t answer, Snow lifts up, back to all fours, his hand snaking out. Hope thinks Snow can see it in his eyes, because Snow frowns, pauses, then decides, “We can’t just use spit. You’re way too tight, and I’m not exactly small—I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Please,” Hope begs all over again, “Snow, please, I _need_ you, this is killing me—” In his squirming to rub their crotches together, his erection still trapped in his bunched up pants, one of the pouches at his hip jostles against him. Eyes widening, he thrusts a hand down between them and pops open the buckles, rushing to try, “A potion! Will that work? It’s liquid and thicker than spit, and it doesn’t have any negative effects...”

Snow gives him a quirked smile and chuckles, “Not exactly conventional, but I guess in a pinch...” Hope’s already pushing a tiny, one-use vial into Snow’s bigger hand. He doesn’t trust himself to apply it. Snow lifts it up to pull out the cork with his teeth, and then he’s dumping it into his palm, and the next thing Hope knows, he’s got Snow’s large hand on his ass again. Another finger pushes inside, and he cries out, but not as loudly as before. He can feel the slickness of the potion, and it leaves a strange tingling sensation in its wake. Snow bobs his finger in and out, then pulls back to push in a second, and Hope squirms against the ground but takes it. There’s no pain. Snow descends on him to claim his mouth again, and a slew of kissing washes away the strangeness of it all. 

When Snow’s fingers leave, Hope feels distinctly empty. He whines at Snow, but Snow hushes him with more kisses, and then Hope can hear the telltale sound of a zipper opening. His hands slide around to Snow’s front, and he uses all his might to push Snow up.

Snow goes with a grunt, looking down at Hope in confusion, but Hope’s busy lifting up on his elbows to stare between them. He knows he might never get another shot at this, and even when they’re forced to bathe in the wild, he only ever catches quick glimpses—he wants to see Snow’s cock properly, close up, and he isn’t at all disappointed.

He knew Snow was big. All of Snow is big. But the hard cock that juts out at him is absolutely _massive_. The veiled tip is stained a dark pink, the curved length twisted with the imprints of veins and grooves that only look like more muscle. A matt of coarse blond hair encircles the base, trailing up Snow’s stomach, his heavy balls still half in his pants. Hope lets out a pathetic moan at the sight and falls back to the ground, the vision imprinted on his memory.

Snow’s smirking up a storm now, and Hope lets him—he deserves to be proud of that monster. He asks cheekily, “Got a good look, kid?”

Hope nods, gulps, and wets his lips to plead, “Put it in me?”

Snow looks all too happy to oblige.

He slinks back down to rub their chests together, face teasingly hovering over Hope’s. Hope can feel the bulbous head of Snow’s cock pushing between his cheeks, and Snow must be using one hand to guide it, because he’s only using one to rearrange Hope’s legs, pushing them back and hiking up his thighs. Then his hole’s being stretched apart by one finger on either side, and Snow presses in, testing the puckered rim. Hope grits his teeth, but Snow lightly bites his jaw and purrs, “Relax, kiddo. Open wide for me...” 

Hope tries to nod. But then Snow’s cock shoves forward, and all pretense is gone—Hope arches off the ground and cries out, Snow’s kiss barely fast enough to stifle it. The sheer girth is incredible, and if it weren’t for the potion, Hope’s sure it would split him apart, but Hope’s coated walls part for it, and each little thrust that Snow gives, Hope’s forced to open more. Snow’s careful, slow, but it’s still so much, almost too much, more than Hope would’ve thought he could take—how does Serah stand this? And then Hope feels bizarrely bad for that cock, having no one to fuck all this time, and he wishes with everything he has that Snow wants this again afterwards, because Pulse is a big place and they could be here a long time, and Hope would have this every night if he could, even if it does break him in two...

By the time Snow’s fully seated, balls-deep in Hope’s ass, Hope’s completely lost. His skin is sheer fire. He’s trembling almost violently. He can barely hold onto Snow, but he clings as best he can. He can’t work his mouth. He keeps it open to accommodate how hard he’s breathing. Snow fills it with tongue and Hope grows even dizzier from that. He’s never been so _full_.

And then Snow starts to move. He slides out, crude centimeter by centimeter, before slamming in with such force that Hope’s dragged up through the earth. Snow pins him down and does it again, draws out, stabs in, and Hope screams into Snow’s mouth, his thighs clenching tight around Snow’s sides, fingers clawing at Snow’s shoulders. Snow kisses him the whole way through, leaving no room for all the noise Hope has in him, which is probably for the best, because Hope’s a mess, and all he’d do is beg Snow not to stop. Now that they’ve started, it’s like something’s snapped in Snow, like he can’t hold back any more, and he pounds Hope hard into the grass. A sudden angle makes Hope see stars, makes him accidentally bite Snow’s lip, and Snow only hits it all the more, targeting that one spot over and over—pleasure’s thrumming through every cell in Hope’s body. It’s absolutely merciless. He wishes he’d begged Snow to do this ages ago. 

He wants to touch his cock. It’s trapped between their bodies, flattened against Snow’s stomach, rubbing against the confines of his pants. But he can’t let go of Snow long enough to do it. Snow probably won’t—he’s probably too lost in his own pleasure. So Hope puts up with serving that, letting the rest of the stimulation be enough. It’s overwhelming. Every brutal thrust of Snow’s hips is more than Hope can take. It’s all he can do to stay conscious. 

But it doesn’t last nearly long enough. It’s too much at once, and Hope’s balls are tightening all too fast, his orgasm rushing in with blazing force. It sweeps him away and drowns everything out—he becomes weightless and giddy, trapped in pure _pleasure_. He screams into Snow’s mouth for all he’s worth and spills all over his pants. 

Snow fucks him right through it. Hope can feel his channel convulsing for it, and he squeezes harder, wanting to milk out every last bit of sensation he can. He wants to memorize this feeling of Snow inside him. As he trickles back down from his orgasm, reality filling his bones, he focuses more and more on the huge man above him, still fucking him hard. 

Hope keeps clenching, and soon Snow’s burying his own noises in Hope’s throat. His cock bursts in Hope’s ass. Hope can feel Snow’s seed filling him up, pounded in with every new thrust, until Snow’s puttering out and finally coming to a stop. 

He pulls out before he ends the train of kisses. Snow whimpers and clenches his thighs together, squeezing his hole and trying to hold Snow’s cum in, but he’s too empty and stretched and can feel himself leaking. As sore as he is, he wishes Snow was back inside. When Snow ends the last kiss, Hope keens and leans up towards him. 

But Snow lifts too high, and Hope’s too heavy. The orgasm left him boneless. He’s satiated and ruined, and he falls back to the earth, lying there and staring up at Snow. Snow’s back is silhouetted in the glow of Cocoon high above. He’s panting, but not as hard as Hope. He smiles sadly and asks, “You okay?”

It takes Hope a minute to manage, “That... was amazing...”

Snow laughs, and the sound makes Hope feel light-headed all over again. He knew Snow was the right one. Snow drops one hand to brush some of the silver hair out of Hope’s eyes. But then his smile falls, and he looks serious again, and Hope’s stomach clenches with the memory of why.

Snow carefully takes hold of Hope’s wrist and turns it over, holding it up in the dim light to look at.

The brand’s black again, the wrath of heat appeased. Hope could already feel that. Snow looks shocked, but Hope’s too spent to feel anything other than pleasant. Snow mutters, “Well, I’ll be damned...”

“I’m damned,” Hope corrects, knowing full well that he got off lucky. “But it was worth it.”

Snow grins. This time it’s pure, free of worry. He bends down to peck Hope’s forehead, and Hope laughs when it tickles. The only trouble now is that he’s too exhausted to walk back to camp. 

Snow does up his own pants and gathers up his shirt and jacket first. Then he carefully shimmies Hope’s pants back up his hips. They smell, but so does the whole party, trapped out in the wilderness. Coming around to Hope’s side, Snow scoops Hope up in both arms, one under his knees and one behind his back. Hope’s brought to rest against Snow’s strong chest, where he curls up with a contented sigh. This is just where he wanted to be. Snow lifts him, likely headed back to the others.

Hope’s asleep before then. Unlike the night of his Focus, he has only happy dreams.


End file.
